Christmas
by LCFC
Summary: A worn out Diner owner meets a mysterious and exhausted young man who wants to reclaim something he lost in his youth.


It was two days before Christmas and the diner was deserted. She glanced at her watch. The red lights flashed 11.30pm; another hour and she could go home.

'You're the owner – why don't you just lock up and go home' she heard her late husbands voice and smiled. Yeah, that was a good idea, but she had no one and no reason to go home for.

The bell rang suddenly and she looked up. Two men had come into the diner. The first was small, stocky with deep green eyes with a devil may care look about him. The second was much taller, lanky. His shaggy hair and snub nose making him look very young and vulnerable. They made their way to the first booth and sat down. She gave them five minutes and then, pasting on a smile, went over to greet them.

"What can I get you boys?"

They both looked up at the sound of her voice and the younger of the two visibly jumped. The older one smiled at her, his eyes not really seeing her

"Just coffee please"

"We have some good pecan pie left"

For no good reason, her heart went out to these two. They looked very tired, worn down and in need of a good bath. The youngest looked about the same age her own son would have been, had he have lived and there was something fragile and other worldly about him.

"Pecan pie eh?" the older boy grinned for real this time "We could go for that" he handed her the menu "Thanks"

She busied herself making coffee and cutting pie. In the background her radio was playing Christmas songs and she sighed; the wilting plastic tree and sagging paper chains hardly made the place seem festive, but she felt she had to make some effort.

She carried the coffee and pie over on a tray. The young men had barely moved, the youngest slumped low in his seat. She noticed a large scratch on his face, scarcely healed.

"Here you are boys" she put the tray down "You want some salve for that cut?"

The young man touched his face and looked straight at her, his green eyes confused. She realised then that he had not even been aware of either her or the scratch on his face.

"You look all in" her voice came out soft and gentle, talking to him the way she had talked to Adam when he had been a baby and needed soothing "You need a bit more than coffee and pie"

"He needs a good sleep, that's all" the older boy's tone was harsh "It's been a long day"

"Certainly has" she knew she was wearing her, not very genuine, customer service smile and she hated herself for it. Smiling still, she put down the check and moved away. She had enough problems – certainly didn't need to take on board anyone else's.

The next day was much the same as the last and she was relieved when Christmas Eve came around. At least now she would have an excuse for shutting early. She counted the money in the till and wondered, briefly, how an earth she could keep this thing going into spring.

The bell clanged and she looked up her heart leaping as she realised that it was the young man she had seen two nights previously. He was on his own now, wearing a thick plaid shirt against the cold, his shaggy hair framing a pale and tired looking face.

"Hello hon" she cursed herself for sounding so motherly, but she couldn't help it "Are you ok?"

He looked at her for a moment, swaying and then, in an instant and without warning, crumpled into a heap at her feet.

He was tall and awkward, but she managed to lift him and half carry, half drag him into the back of the shop. He stood for a moment against the wall and then slipped down once more. She stared at him, distressed and reached into her apron pocket for her mobile, her fingers beginning to punch 911.

"No – not the hospital"

It was the first time she had heard him speak and his voice was soft and very gentle. She knelt beside him

"You're sick, you must see someone"

"Not sick – tired" he put his hand on her arm and she flinched at how cold it was "Please, I'm just tired"

"Can I call someone – the man I saw you with the other night?"

"No!" that was said with more vehemence "No, please"

"What can I do?" she put her hand over his cold one and he looked at her, really looked at her, his green eyes gleaming in the darkness "Let me help you"

He was silent again and she could feel the pulse in his wrist jumping. Gently she got up and pulled him to his feet. Without hesitation she took his hand and put her arm around his waist and then, with as much strength as she could muster, she took him out to her jeep and strapped him in the front seat.

Later she would muse about the risk she was taking, putting a strange man in her car and driving him to her home. Now she could think of nothing else to do and acted purely on impulse.

Inside she lit the fire and put on the tree lights. She always tried to keep her home clean and warm and now, in the dimness it seemed welcoming. She helped the young man to her sofa and lay him down, and then she opened the brandy that she kept in for Christmas and other occasions and poured him a generous measure.

She could see that he was still awake and she lifted the glass to his lips. He looked at her for a moment and then he took a large gulp, tears filling his eyes as the sharp heat of the alcohol hit him. He looked stunned for a moment, then, without warning he smiled and his whole face lit up. She responded back with a smile of her own and crouched down by the sofa, curling her legs under her.

"Better now?"

"Thanks" his voice was stronger now "Thanks"

"Here" she gave him another slug for good measure and she saw his pale cheeks suffuse with warmth "You're not in any sort of trouble are you?" she wanted, suddenly, to touch his hair "That man you were with – he isn't going to hurt you?"

"Dean?" the man smiled again and looked younger still "No – I'm not in trouble. I just ran away for a bit. I just wanted…wanted Christmas"

"Wanted Christmas?" she looked into those green eyes, eyes so deep you could almost see into the soul "I don't understand"

"My mom's dead" his voice was matter of face, but his face told a different story "My dad works away – his work is dangerous – like mine and Deans – we never really had a proper childhood – hell – I can't even remember when I last had a present or even ate turkey" he winced a little as he sat upright "I'm just so tired, I just wanted, you know, to be normal"

She wanted to ask him questions about Dean and their job, but somehow she knew she wouldn't get any answers. Instead she poured another brandy and, after slugging it herself, handed it to him.

He drank it down like an obedient child takes medicine and raked his hand through his dishevelled hair. Then he saw Adam's photograph and picked it up, his head cocking to one side as he looked.

"Who's this?"

"That's Adam, my son" she kept her own voice even "He was only two when he died – cot death they said, but I never really knew" she stared up at the boy in front of her "He would have been about your age now I guess"

"I'm so sorry" he put his hands on her shoulders

"We never had anymore, Jack and me, we just didn't seem to – he couldn't live with the grief really – died last year of a heart attack – but I knew different, I knew it was broken"

The boy's green eyes filled with tears and he dropped his head onto her shoulder, resting it on his own hand.

"There are so many people who are lonely and suffering – god –I'm so selfish"

"I'm not lonely and suffering honey" she lifted her own hand and stroked his hair; it was course beneath her fingers and she tangled it "I have my diner and my home and I still have Christmas" she laughed "You have to make the best of things, you have to, after all we are a long time dead"

The boy shuddered. He burrowed his head further into her shoulder and wrapped his arms close around her waist. She moved slightly and felt his head fall to her breast and she cradled him against her, like she used to cradle Adam, like you cradle a baby.

They stayed like that for a long time and then, without warning, he lifted his mouth and pressed it hard against hers. She was taken by surprise and her hand went to his hair, first to pull him away, but then to move it closer. The kiss locked and held and became frantic. Her lips were bruised where his teeth caught them, but she held on, her heart pounding, her head whirling. His hands bit into her shoulders, her waist, and her stomach. He seemed unsure, as if he didn't really know or understand what he was doing or where it was leading. She shushed him, gently moving a hand here, a finger there, her own hands, experienced, tender, touched him too and soon they were, somehow, lying on her old sofa, body pressed to body, lip to lip, closer and closer until they were one.

She felt as if she were everything to him; mother, father, lover. She couldn't even begin to analyse her own feelings and did not even want to. She had brought him back here to help him and if this helped then it was a good thing surely. She felt as if she were young again and he had turned back time for her. Then the earth spun about them and she was drawn down into nothing more than pleasure and time did not turn back again, just stopped.

When she awoke it was Christmas day and the room was flooded with light. She heard him singing in the shower and it pleased her. She sat up, smoothing her hair, pulling on her clothing. She straightened her blouse hiding her curved belly, not wanting him to see. She felt a strange mixture of embarrassment and joy and decided that was enough for her.

He looked a new man. His face suffused with colour, drawn up to his full height. He wore the plaid shirt and jeans with holes in them. He looked fresh, he looked young.

She realised, with a jolt, that she did not even know his name, where he came from or where he was going. He smiled at her, a smile of pure delight and she knew that it did not matter.

"I have to go" he looked at his watch "Dean will be having kittens" he paused and looked around the room "This is so festive" he smiled again "Merry Christmas"

"Merry Christmas" she reached under the tree and gave him one of the brightly wrapped presents. She had wrapped it days ago, cursing her foolishness, but she did that every year, buying a gift for a boy who would never grow up.

"Thank you" he clutched it to him, a boy who had been forced to grow up too fast "Thank you – for everything" and, with a swift kiss on the forehead, he was gone.

She watched him walk up the drive and stride manfully, those long legs carrying him, towards town. She knew she would never see him again, never know what he and Dean did that was so dangerous, never know if he lived or if he died. Tears hit her and she put a hand to her face to stem them. She had, at least, given him back Christmas.

End


End file.
